


thorns

by sharknado



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Best friend Mingyu, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inner Dialogue, M/M, One Shot, One-Sided Relationship, screaming into the void, writing this made me wanna drink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 04:43:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12313974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharknado/pseuds/sharknado
Summary: they scrape and make him bleed, and god, good god, hansol can't scream out.





	thorns

Hansol shifts his weight rather uncomfortably as he stares at the ceiling. There’s so much going on in his head right now. He feels lonely--yet his best friend lays next to him and scrolls through his twitter feed, occasionally tweeting something, occasionally airdropping him a stupid meme. Mingyu’s eyes scan the screen of his phone lazily. It’s obvious to Hansol that he’s bored as well. Some sleepover this is, huh? Mingyu chuckles at a post every so often….Hansol stares at the nonexistent patterns in the smooth ceiling overhead.

 

He thinks of Seungkwan. Good god, no.

 

Can he not think of Seungkwan? Not like this. Not right now.

 

A heavy sigh passes his lips. This isn’t what he wants to think about. Not his laughter, his beautiful voice, not even his stupid fucking username on kakaotalk.  He doesn’t want to think about the heavy, lovely, warm feeling he gets when he talks to the incredibly talented friend of his, or how he’s the only person lately who’s been able to get him to write songs or poems, the occasional rap in the mix every so often. Some of the most beautiful melodies he’s written lately are all inspired by Seungkwan. His warm eyes, the way his dimples show up when he smiles and laughs too hard.

 

He DEFINITELY doesn’t want to think of the fact that none of this will ever be returned; it’s all so hard to him, but he should be used to it by now. Seeing others happy while he’s miserable is unfortunately a very typical pattern for Chwe Hansol. 

 

His best friends have been together for years. Wonwoo and Mingyu were inseparable and it was one of the most beautiful things on this godforsaken earth to him. It was like the red string of fate danced around them and made them hold onto each other like stars in a constellation. The very visionaries who saw Orion’s Belt hanging and glittering around his waist lazily were the same ones who sewed Wonwoo and Mingyu’s names onto the exact same silken skies. Of course, they had their fights--Hansol never heard the end of how stubborn Wonwoo was--but Hansol still found himself being jealous. 

 

Jealousy crept up his stomach and bloomed in his throat like a flower who refused to show its petals to the outside world. Hansol never spoke a word of his jealousy. What was it like to be loved? To love and for it to be returned? He sighed. There was an incredible hole in his chest that was filled with lead every night when he laid down to sleep. It bit at him and clawed at his chest, it made his very soul scream and cry with anguish as it was buried in the grave of his own thoughts. He imagined what it would be like to hold Seungkwan close like Mingyu holds Wonwoo. What would it be like to hear “I love you” back? He heard those words frequently but never with the same meaning that Hansol holds in his own words.

 

He finally decides to break the silence.

 

“Mingyu,” he speaks, his voice breaking a little under the pressure. “What’s it like?”

 

Mingyu sits up a little, propping himself up with his arm. He quirks a brow when Hansol talks--Hansol can see his expression change out of the corner of his eye.

 

“Mm? What’s what like.”

 

“Love.”

 

“I think you know what it’s like,” Mingyu laughs quietly. “Come on. You know exactly what it feels like, right?”

 

“Not to feel it back, no,” Hansol mutters, still staring at the ceiling.

 

The flower in his throat blooms a little more. Its thorns scrape him and make him bleed and god he wants to scream, the green notes of envy want to yell out in anger, but he holds his breath. He can’t let it win. He holds his words back and suffocates the bloom with lack of sunshine and oxygen. Perhaps saltwater can nourish his jealousy tonight.

 

“What’s it like, to be loved like that?”

 

There’s an audible sigh from Hansol’s best friend. It’s not one of annoyance, it’s far from that. Pity? Is that it? Mingyu runs a hand through his hair like he always does before he’s going to speak. He bites his lip and thinks before he speaks. It’s almost like he can read Hansol’s mind. Don’t make it sound too good, Hansol thinks. Don’t make me want what I can’t have even more. 

 

“It’s beautiful,” Mingyu admits finally. “It’s like feeling the beauty of everything on and off of this earth at once. It’s like feeling like the sun and feeling like earth all at once. Not only are you warm and bright and wonderful, but you give that beauty to someone else, they benefit from it, and as revolutions pass everything gets better.”

 

Hansol sighs this time. Must be nice, to be loved like that. He thinks of Seungkwan. God, he doesn’t want to imagine those brown eyes again. Those eyes that shine like diamonds. They’re warm and genuine and bright. This cruel, horrid world has some beauty in it still, and his name is Boo Seungkwan. Reminiscing on the times he’s seen the other, he holds his breath and holds back tears. Bursting into hysterics right now isn’t going to work. Maybe he should just write something. Something good. Something powerful.

 

“You’re lucky, Mingyu.”

 

Mingyu nods.

 

“I know I am. I can’t imagine life without him.”

 

More lead is shoveled into the grave of Hansol’s soul. It crushes and suffocates what little life there is left in him. There’s nothing beautiful anymore, is there? Only behind a glass box, a wall, something far out of his reach. He can’t just Indiana Jones it and steal what isn’t his, either. Seungkwan’s heart was a treasure he could only receive when it was given to him, and he knows that for the rest of his days, he’ll be staring at that coveted glass box as if his life depends on it. That treasure, that beauty that he just can’t have.

 

“I know you can’t. You’re lucky.”

 

“I’m sorry, Hansol,” Mingyu says quietly, the silence in the room slinking back into the air like a black cat comfortably making the entire atmosphere unlucky. “You’ll find someone.”

 

“I have, you know that,” is his reply. He can feel the cat hiss and the flower bloom brighter and harsher. The thorns pierce his throat once more and he wants to cry and scream and yell. “I just don’t think it’ll happen, do you?”

 

Silence. That means no, doesn’t it? Hansol takes in the silence like he takes in smoke and like he takes in drunken feelings. He lingers in it and allows himself to savor the absolute deafening sound of nothing. There’s the occasional blow of wind outside his window. Every so often he can hear himself or Mingyu breathe. But that’s nothing compared to the sound of a hammer making contact with the porcelain shell that rests in his platinum ribcage. He curls up a little bit, holding on to his pillow as if it’s somebody in particular. The universe really hates him, doesn’t it? Everything reminds him of Seungkwan. There’s a beat he works on. What does he title it? BSK1.mp3, because the gentle bassline reminds him of the way Seungkwan’s heart must sound when he blushes. Hansol wouldn’t know that, however. Hansol must have committed some kind of intense sin in a past life for these consequences to roll over into the next life.

 

It hurts, and love shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t feel like death. It shouldn’t make you feel hopeless, should it? He silently wishes he could love somebody else. Maybe it would be better if they never spoke, right? The desire to be high or drunk washes over him and grips him, dragging him down to the ocean floor with all of his other wants and desires and so-called needs. When was the last time he was held? When did someone last kiss him and tell him things would be okay? He doesn’t remember, nor does he want to. All he wants is to forget. No more desire, no more general loneliness. Being in love with someone you can’t have is only made worse by the way your brain makes you feel. His mind fucks with him and strangles him until his thoughts have no room to breathe, and the flower of jealousy withers from lack of care. Trauma chokes it and slams it to the floor. It loses petals and they drop into  his stomach one by one, dissolving from a green to blue, the feeling of sadness taking over. It’s not like Hansol ever had a chance to love correctly.  Everything hurt. Nothing was ever okay.  He thinks of the times he felt loved. Those were all when he was drinking or high. Substances were the only ones to bring him that kind of warm ecstasy he hears Seungkwan talk about wanting.

 

The silence is broken by Mingyu’s voice. Hansol doesn’t know whether to cry out in frustration or to listen--but he decides on the second one.

 

“It’s okay, Hansol,” Mingyu whispers, not wanting to break his delicate friend. 

Hansol scowls at himself. Is he really that sensitive…? Can Mingyu tell how depressed he is?  How pathetic.

 

“You’ll move on.”

 

Hansol’s throat tightens. The thorns dig deeper.

 

You would think that, wouldn’t you?

 

I can’t.

**Author's Note:**

> scream until your lungs give out, kid


End file.
